Well
by Olivia Beige
Summary: Someone should have expressly forbidden Myrcella from wandering the woods in Lannisport.


NOTE: This shares a headcanon with **Vassal** but this can be read as standalone.

* * *

Myrcella was running.

The woods in Lannisport had a lot of ferns and white froths that could have been orchids. The ferns kept snagging on Myrcella's skirts. The frothy white blooms kept blurring at the edges of her sweat-lidded eyes. The crunch of logs and the rustle of leaves announced her flying feet to her quarry.

The kitten ahead of her was gaining ground.

Myrcella put on another burst of speed. A sharp ache sliced on her side, making her gasp. She pumped her arms faster, dug her feet harder, and felt her leg muscles coil tighter. With a lunge, she caught the kitten and crashed on the ground.

"Got you!"

The kitten mewled in protest. Myrcella panted and gave it a gusty grin. Tommen would be so pleased that she caught it. He would also be put out that she caught it first. Myrcella hoped that he wasn't too far behind her, or too lost, because they had only sneaked away and would surely be scolded if caught.

"There you are," a voice called.

Myrcella looked up. An older girl stood over her, smiling beatifically. The thin mist curled around the girl's long auburn hair and made her yellow dress flutter. In the greenish-grey tinge of the light in the woods, she was still noticeably freckly.

She was also unfamiliar. Myrcella did not mind. The people in Lannisport were also unfamiliar, although they loved her father King Robert very much.

"I was looking for you," the girl continued.

Myrcella, with all the dignity that she could muster, scrambled up from her sprawl and blew a stray curl out of her face. The kitten gave a tiny feline screech. Myrcella ignored it to say, "Why? Did they send you?"

"I don't need to be sent," the girl said. "I'm always mindful of my duties. Are you tired? Would you like to sit?"

With an easy smile, the girl patted the lip of the well where she had been perched on.

Myrcella eyed the well. Moss crawled green and persistent all along its crumbly stones, and a bunch of ferns seemed to be clawing their way up from the earth to perch on its lip as well.

The kitten was still screeching.

Myrcella held it at arm's length, worried that it might scratch her, and gave it her best disapproving frown. "Hush, you."

It paid her no mind. It screeched and screeched, a thin distressed cry, its tiny kitten head turned towards the unfamiliar girl.

The kitten must not like strangers.

"I didn't know you like kittens," the girl remarked.

You don't know me at all, Myrcella wanted to say. I don't know you at all. Instead she said, "It's for my brother."

A pleased and startled look passed on the girl's face. "Oh, is it? I thought he likes puppies and horses."

"You know my brother?"

The girl's smile turned exasperated. "Of _course_ , my lady. Here, let me plait your hair. Your lord father won't be too pleased if he saw you like that."

Myrcella knew that Father wouldn't really care. But Mother would, and if Mother fussed then Father would be dragged into it and they might fight again. Myrcella would rather that they just enjoy this visit to Mother's home. Tomorrow if Father would be in a good mood they might go boating with Lord and Lady Arryn and little Robert, and with Myrcella's Lannister cousins as well.

Myrcella bit on her lip and considered the other girl. The other girl had warm eyes, a confusing tangle of green and brown, like the stirring of the woods around them. But they were inviting enough, so Myrcella hesitantly approached the girl and sat beside her on the lip of the well.

Her dress was already filthy with twigs and leaves and dirt. The moss wouldn't make a difference.

The other girl started to run her sure and chilly fingers through Myrcella's hair. "Would you like me to dress it the usual way? Your favourite way?"

Myrcella had no particular favoured way to dress her hair. She didn't mind her hair at all, but Mother always murmured about their golden hair. Myrcella had Mother's hair, as she'd been told by almost everyone from Lord Arryn to Myrcella's maids, and Mother's eyes and nose and mouth.

Sometimes, though, Myrcella wished that she had Father's hair. Black as the deep night. That might make her a bit different from Mother and Joffrey and Tommen, and even from Uncle Jaime and Uncle Tyrion.

Myrcella could feel the other girl starting to plait her hair with the usual fashion of the Westerlands, the one Mother always wore, twisty and practical and made her a bit taller.

"Your lady mother said that we should always accompany each other," the other girl said, deftly pulling a lock. Myrcella tried not to shudder at the coldness of the girl's fingers on her scalp.

"Did she?" Myrcella was not told about this. She knew there were some murmurs that Myrcella should foster in Dragonstone so she could spend time with her cousin Lady Shireen. Myrcella didn't know anything about strange girls from the Westerlands. Although it made sense since Mother did not approve of spending time with Lady Shireen.

The girl chuckled. "Yes. Is this one of your games? We should always obey your lady mother."

On that Myrcella could agree with. "We should."

"I was quite puzzled when you left me," the girl said. The way she spoke was not demanding. Her voice was thoughtful, quite solemn but equally airy. She sounded like she was coaxing a lion.

"I did not leave you," Myrcella said, equally puzzled. "I don't even know you."

The girl's cold fingers tightened on Myrcella's hair. Myrcella yelped in pain. "That's not very nice, then," the girl said, still in that thoughtful voice. "It's not polite to push strangers, Cersei. It's not polite to push anyone down wells, really."

Myrcella started heaving. "I'm not Cersei!"

"I know you," the girl laughed. "I know you and Jaime switch places."

The cold hands were still locked with Myrcella's hair. Myrcella flailed, grabbing backwards at the girl's dress and arms. Myrcella shouted and twisted, and even as her cheeks turned wet the grip on her held firm. Myrcella shouted, "Let go," and she thought she could hear yelling as well.

But there was no yelling.

"Sit still, please," the girl only said. "It's not wise to run off without me. What would Lady Lannister have said?"

The cold hands wrenched. Myrcella screamed as she felt the lurch of the fall. Her stomach turned, and before she could throw up, the splash of the cold water crashed on her senses, yanking her back from the blackness glittering in her eyes.

Cold slimy water clamoured to engulf her. Myrcella grabbed on to the wet stones. With a frantic toss of her hair she tipped back her head, and high above her the mouth of the well was only a faint grey-green circle.

Her fingers slipped from the stones. Myrcella sobbed, wading in the neck-deep water, grabbing at the tiny leaves and twigs, at the swath of yellowish mouldy cloth. She stared at this swath before flinging it away from her with a wail. Myrcella rushed to the wall and scrabbled at the stones, clawing to push herself up and scratching when she slipped back down. She tried again and again, clawed and held again and again. Again and again, Myrcella slipped and scratched.

Still, she couldn't do it. She couldn't save herself.

Myrcella pounded with her fists with increasing terror and desperation. All the while she was letting out screaming sobs.

The skin on her hands hurt, she thought dimly, as a faint blob appeared above, yelling as well.

 _Help_ _me_ , Myrcella begged, but only heard her breathy, watery gasps. _Mother Uncle Jaime Father Ser Barristan someone help me._

* * *

Myrcella coughed out cold well water when she awoke.

"I've got you," a voice told her. "You're safe."

Myrcella lifted her cheek and saw that it was Uncle Jaime. In the dim grey light of the well, she saw Uncle Jaime's wet hair flat on his nape and how he was securing the rope which tied Myrcella to him.

Myrcella hiccupped out a cry.

"It's all right now," Uncle Jaime panted. "It's all right, Myrcella. You're safe."

Myrcella tightened her arms around him, as she coughed and shuddered, and rested back her cheek on his nape.

Her eyes stayed shut as Uncle Jaime started the halting ascent. He climbed on the rope, with Myrcella tied to his back, and climbed, and climbed as shouts rang from above.

In the light and chaos of the woods, the first thing Myrcella saw was Tommen's round frightened face. Father stood beside him, patting him on the head and praising him for finding Myrcella.

Blurrily she could also hear Uncle Tyrion's worried voice: "Has anyone got bandages on their persons? Will someone fetch me bandages? The princess' palms are bleeding."

Uncle Jaime had barely started on untying the ropes when Myrcella was grabbed from him. Shudders tore through Myrcella's body, but the tight and frantic grip of Mother almost warmed her.

Mother's face was very pale. She was holding on to Myrcella even though Myrcella was drenched and slimy.

"She threw me down the well," Myrcella mumbled. It was so cold. Her teeth were chattering. She felt not the throbbing on her hands but only the coldness. The overwhelming chill in her bones, and the phantom of the yellowish mouldy cloth twisting in the well water.

"Who was it?" Mother hissed. Her arms clamped tighter around Myrcella's quivering body, and when she brought a jewelled hand up to brush away Myrcella's hair, Myrcella saw that Mother's hand was shaking. "Tell me. I will have them beheaded and have the well torn down. Who threw you down the well, sweetling?"

"She didn't tell me her name." Myrcella tucked her face in the crook of Mother's warm neck. "But she called me Cersei. And she said it wasn't nice to push people down wells."

 _fin_


End file.
